Death Casts a Shadow, page 2
A brightly lit Christmas tree in a corner window and a red-berried wreath on the front door projected a cheery holiday greeting. The setting was picture perfect, from the snow-covered ruffle of bushes that hugged the house to the scarlet cardinal that trilled from a high pine bough as Cubiak made his way up the stone walk.
The sheriff rang the bell and listened as a muffled chorus of chimes echoed through the house. He waited until the sound faded to silence and pressed the bell a second time. Again there was no hint of movement inside. He was turning to leave when he heard the click of a lock being released.
The door opened several inches. A petite woman with a bob of silver hair surveyed him with cool green eyes.
“You’re not Bobby,” she said.
“No, I’m not.” The sheriff introduced himself.
“Cate Wagner’s husband.” The woman broke into a warm smile, but her wariness showed in the way she kept one hand on the knob and clutched the door frame with the other.
“That’s me.” Cubiak returned the smile. Early in his marriage to Cate, he had bristled at the honorific, but by now he had grown accustomed to it. Cate’s history in Door County stretched back nearly fifty years, more than twice his time on the peninsula. Taking into account her family’s presence, her heritage could be traced more than a century to the day when her grandfather bought ten acres of forest outside Gills Rock, holdings that would eventually expand to include a large swath of land.
“And you are Lydia Malcaster?” he said.
“I am.” She blushed and her cheeks colored to a shade of pink that nearly matched her angora sweater. “Sorry, Sheriff, I should have recognized you from Cate’s last exhibition. I’m sure I saw you there.” She released her grip on the door frame and tucked a strand of her short hair behind her ear.
“This is a surprise,” she went on, slipping her free hand into the pocket of her white wool trousers. The outfit was casual wear for a woman of her age and station, but to him she was dressed up. Whiffs of snow blew in, settling on her hair and the carpet. “Please, come in,” she said, as if suddenly remembering her manners.
She stepped back to let him pass, and then she closed the door and threw the lock. “Habit,” she said. “I know most people don’t bother locking their doors, but being alone up here . . .” She stopped and laughed. “But I guess I don’t need to worry with you in the house.”
Once Cubiak was inside, Lydia seemed unsure what to do. Still smiling, she stared at him a moment, her face a question mark. “What exactly can I do for you, Sheriff?” she said, and then continued before he could reply. “I don’t imagine that you’re here soliciting funds for the Crime Prevention Foundation. Besides, I already gave.”
“To be honest, I stopped in to make sure everything’s okay. You do live way up here alone.”
Lydia frowned. “Who sent you? One of my friends?” She flung the word at him like a barb.
Cubiak hesitated, and then he dropped the pretense.
“Your aunt Regina is concerned about your well-being and asked me to check in with you.”
“The queen bee. I should have known,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. Then she softened her tone. “I shouldn’t be so hard on her. Regina means well—it’s just that sometimes she can be overbearing. At any rate, I appreciate your candor, and since you came all the way up here, I may as well put your mind at ease.”
With that she turned and headed across the foyer, trailing perfume into the living room, where it mingled with the rich pine aroma wafting from the elaborately decorated tree. The result was not unpleasant.
Lydia arranged herself in a gold brocade wing chair that gave her command of the room. Tucking her slippered feet under a matching ottoman, she motioned the sheriff to the facing chair. He sat, his back to the tree. She hadn’t bothered to take his coat or invite him to remove it, an indication that she intended for this to be a short visit. He felt pellets of sweat rise along his chest and spine.
“I have a gentleman friend, newly acquired,” Lydia said, jumping right in. “I made the mistake of mentioning him to Regina, and she immediately expressed her disapproval. I assume that you know that I was married to her nephew, Zachary Malcaster?”
Cubiak nodded.
“Regina loved Zack like a son, and I think she felt that I was being disloyal to his memory. I told her that no man would ever replace Zack in my heart but that at the same time there might be room for someone else, a companion at the very least. I know she’s trying to accept that idea, but she’s also raised the alarm about my well-being. Rightfully so, I might add.”
“And that would be because . . .”
Lydia cleared her throat and folded her hands in her lap.
“I’m a widow and I have money. I can’t hide either fact, but taken together, the circumstances make me a target for unscrupulous men. They are hustlers of one sort or another, and they are legion. Fortune hunters is the term used, I believe. I’m quite aware of the horror stories, but this situation is different.” She blushed. “I sound ridiculous, don’t I? That’s what Regina said, not in so many words but the implication was obvious. Everyone thinks their situation is different, special. It’s true love, they say. If only you understood, they insist.”
She locked eyes with Cubiak. “Do you understand?”
“I know what it’s like to be lonely, if that’s what you mean.”
Lydia stiffened and looked away. “Lonely doesn’t even begin to describe what it’s like to be alone after you lose the person you love,” she said.
For a moment they sat in unspoken agreement.
“Why don’t you tell me about him, your gentleman friend,” Cubiak said gently.
Her soft smile returned. “His name is James Dura. He was an old friend of my late husband’s. He and Zack were together in school in Madison. They were roommates for a couple of semesters and teammates for all four years.”
“Your husband played football, didn’t he?”
“They both did.”
“You knew Dura back then?”
“I didn’t know any of Zack’s friends from his university days. I met my husband when he was at Marquette working on his MBA.”
“In Milwaukee?”
“Yes, that’s where I’m from originally. By then James had returned to his hometown, somewhere out east, Pittsburgh, I believe. There was no reason for him to come back.”
“Not even for your wedding?”
Lydia shook her head. “We didn’t have much of an actual wedding. My mother was very ill at the time, and out of deference to her we opted for a small, private ceremony. I wore a white suit, not even a wedding dress. Zack’s cousin was his best man. My sister was my maid of honor, and besides them, we invited family members and a few local friends. But Zack talked about James often enough; he talked about the whole team those first few years. Then after a while, one gets busy with work and life. You lose touch with the old friends and make new ones.”
A whistling noise came from the rear of the house.
“Oh, dear, I forgot that I had the kettle on.” Lydia hopped up from the chair. “A cup of tea, Sheriff?” she called as she hurried out.
While Lydia was gone, Cubiak slipped off his jacket and looked around the room. Her touch was evident in the warm, soft colors of the walls and furnishings. Her wealth and good taste showed in the dazzling array of art on display. Four large oils depicted a large oak tree in the different seasons. The rest were flowers: a watercolor of a rose garden and a half-dozen botanical prints that looked very old.
He was studying a vibrant abstract of something that he guessed was a blue vining plant when Lydia reappeared. She had pinked her lips and exchanged the slippers for white ballet flats.
“Like it?” she said, setting down a silver tray. “It’s a Chihuly.”
“Interesting, but a little rich for my blood,” he said.
Once he was reseated, Lydia poured the tea and held up the platter of cookies. “I made them myself, but I have to warn you that baking isn’t my forte. They won’t win any prizes but they’re edible,” she said.
The sheriff broke off a piece and set the rest down alongside his cup.
“How long were you and your husband married?”
“Thirty-eight years. Zack had been retired for four years when he died. We were preparing for a river cruise in Europe when he had a fatal heart attack. There was no family history of cardiac disease, and he’d passed his physical just a few months before. The doctors couldn’t explain how or why it happened. It was all very sudden and unexpected.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “Thank you. Everyone says that, but to most people the words don’t mean much. They have no idea what it’s like to wake up one day and find your life in shreds. I felt so cheated. He’d been cheated. We both had. All the plans, gone. Everything, gone. We had no children, so it was only the two of us. And then I had no one.”
“No other family?”
“Besides Regina, not really. My father and sister are both deceased. My nearest relative is a distant cousin whom I’d seen a couple of times, but she lives on the West Coast.”
“Your friends?”
Lydia stiffened and flashed her eyes at him. “Many of them were our friends, and after Zachary died, they disappeared as well. Dropped me like the proverbial hot potato. It sounds harsh, but it’s exactly what happened. I was persona non grata, the woman alone.”
She hooked her hands together at her waist and gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “How ironic that when you’re at your absolute lowest, when you can barely hold yourself together, you’re seen as a threat. Men whom I’d known for years, who’d been forthcoming with hugs before, hardly dared to touch me. A pat on the shoulder perhaps. And the wives, old friends as well, became the protectors of the castle. In the world of couples, a single woman is the odd one. Oh, I’m sure they found ways to rationalize their behavior. Where do we put her at the table? That sort of thing. She wouldn’t be comfortable, they’d tell themselves. The truth is that I would have been painfully uncomfortable, but I was more miserable being at home alone.” She pinned her gaze on her visitor. “How many evenings was I supposed to sit here by myself, waiting for the phone to ring?”
There was no answer, so he gave none.
“I had my book club, of course, and my church group, and if it hadn’t been for those activities, I don’t know what I would have done. But only women belonged to them. Intelligent women certainly, and while I enjoyed their company and still do, I find that women tend to be of a like mind. Even when they don’t agree, there always seems to be something missing in the ensuing discussions. Maybe I’m old-fashioned but it seems to me that men think differently, and I missed that male perspective.”
“How did you connect with him then, this James?”
Lydia gave him a hard stare. “It’s James. Not this James. About six months ago, I received an email from him. I wasn’t going to read it but the name sounded familiar, and then I remembered that my late husband had a friend with that name, so I did. He said he’d seen Zack’s obituary in an old alumni magazine and wanted to extend his condolences. He said he’d hesitated because it was already years since Zack had died but that he’d only found out.”
“Do you have any idea how he got your email address?”
She sighed and brushed a crumb from her lap. “Oh, you are such a cop, aren’t you? But maybe I had suspicions, too, because I asked him the same question. He said that he’d had to guess at it and that after several attempts he got it right. It’s not so hard, when you think about it. I use my full name and Gmail. I think that’s fairly common now.”
“Is he still in Pittsburgh?”
“Not anymore. Several years ago, he took a job with the government and moved to Washington.”
“James and your husband were contemporaries, which would put him in his late sixties. Why isn’t he retired?”
“He was for a couple of years. Retired and divorced and bored. He started a consulting business just to have something to do. He planned to work part time, but then this other opportunity came up and he said he couldn’t resist. His contract runs out in spring. And before you ask, he couldn’t give me any details about the work, other than that it involved international travel. Currently he’s on site somewhere in the Middle East.”
She looked at Cubiak. “I can see the wheels spinning, but we both know the world’s a mess, and that there are people working behind the scenes doing only Lord knows what to keep a lid on any number of precarious situations and protect our country’s interests. James is a petroleum engineer; my guess is that whatever he’s involved with has to do with his expertise.”
“You haven’t actually met him yet?”
“That’s correct.”
Lydia picked up her cup and saucer and then set them back down. “I’m not a fool, Sheriff. I know that taking advantage of lonely mature women seems to be a popular pastime. I have a folder full of stories about the kind of con jobs perpetrated on women of means. James doesn’t fit the pattern. He’s different.”
Cubiak rubbed his jaw. “If you say so.”
“You’re a born cynic, aren’t you?” Lydia said.
The sheriff shrugged. “I’m not sure if I was born to it, but cynicism comes with the job.”
“And it’s probably a good thing in your line of work, but beyond that . . .” She left the statement hanging. Then she gave him a taut smile and stood.
“Come with me. There’s something you need to see.”
Lydia led him back through the foyer and down a set of carpeted stairs. “The house is built on a slope,” she explained as she pointed to the tall stained-glass windows on the lower level.
She had started down the passage to the right when a car roared up and stopped outside.
“Somebody needs a muffler,” Cubiak said.
“It’s just Tracey, Tracey Fells, my housekeeper. She told me she’s saving for one.” Lydia shrugged. “Kids.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Hardly a kid, then.”
“From where I stand, Sheriff, nearly everyone is a kid.” As she spoke, the front door opened.
“Tracey has a key?”
“Of course, she has a key. Do you think I want to arrange my life around her schedule?”
At the end of the hall, Lydia stopped in front of the door on the left. “Zack’s office, his man cave, I guess you could call it. After he died, I redid the rest of the house, but I didn’t touch anything in here. This was always his personal room. I guess it still is,” she said, opening the door to a dim room full of heavy, oversize furniture, the opposite of everything he had seen upstairs.
“My husband was a very tall guy. I always felt like a Lilliputian in here,” Lydia said as she circled around the massive bespoke desk to the windows. “We planted those when we built the house, thirty-five years ago.” She indicated the stand of birch trees in the yard. Then she turned and flipped a switch, and a bank of lights lit a wall filled with black-and-white photos of Zack’s glory days on the University of Wisconsin football team. Zack as “Athlete of the Year.” Zack as “Most Valuable Player.” Zack with the team the year they swept the season. The players had confident smiles and the steady eyes of youthful, fresh-scrubbed, all-American football heroes who stared into the camera and into the bright future each of them anticipated.
“Zack was the quarterback. He’s front row, center.” Lydia touched a fingertip to a rugged, young man with hooded eyes and a soft smile.
“And James?”
Lydia gave a quick laugh. “I had to ask him. Remember, we’d never met.”
She slid her finger over the glass and stopped at a figure who stood near the end of the second row. James had light hair. He was tall, like the others, and square jawed. His stance was relaxed and easy but couldn’t disguise the underlying arrogance in his manner.
Lydia flipped another switch.
“Look here,” she said, walking across the room toward a recessed alcove where four metal statues stood on a rough plank shelf.
“This is Zack’s collection of Frederic Remington bronzes: The Bronco Buster, The Rattlesnake, Coming through the Rye, and The Outlaw.” She tapped each one as she named it. “His grandfather won the first statue in a poker game, if you can believe it, and after that he was so enthralled by Remington’s work that he bought several more. Regina’s husband kept one, but the others eventually came to Zack. He was given The Bronco Buster as a high school graduation gift and took it with him to Madison.
“The point is that James asked me if Zack still had the statue. Only someone who knew my husband back then would have been able to do that. In fact, James joked about the times they didn’t have enough money for pizza on Friday nights and talked about pawning the bronze for something to eat. I’d heard the same story from Zack several times. It’s crazy to think that they would even consider doing something that absurd, but then, I guess boys will be boys. At any rate, the story proves that they were school chums.”
“The statues must be very valuable.”
“I’m sure they are.” Lydia turned and went on in a mocking tone. “And let’s not forget that I have jewelry as well, and this house, and a stock portfolio that Zack assembled, plus an inheritance from my parents, which by itself is sufficient to keep me in tea and cookies for the rest of my life. I know what you’re getting at, Sheriff.” Her words cut razor sharp.
“Then you won’t be surprised when I ask if James ever approached you for money.”
Lydia sniffed. “Touché. But no, he hasn’t. James has never asked for anything. Quite the opposite, in fact. For the past two months, he’s been lavishing me with gifts. Which means that I have something else to show you.”
To the sound of the vacuum running somewhere in the house, Lydia marched Cubiak down the hall, up the stairs, and along a rear passage to a room off the kitchen.
